He rubs his pate, a sure sign he’s worried. “This is a disaster.”
Yep. That’s the word of the day.
“If word leaks out about this, that’s all the social media will talk about.”
“Exactly.”
“If that happens, God knows if the Outlaws would keep him. Wouldn’t be the first time they let go of a scandal-prone player.”
Scrunching his mouth, he rubs a thumb across his lower lip. For a few seconds, there’s nothing but silence.
I don’t interrupt his process but sit across from him with my hands clasped in front of me. I may be disgusted with Brock and his sex toys, but I don’t want his career to end, especially when I feel guilty enough already. Somehow I should have stopped what happened today.
After a minute or two, he raises his head and laser gazes me. The light shining in his eyes gives me hope. Maybe he’s found a way out of this mess.
“Who knows we rented that apartment for Brock?” he asks.
“No one. I handled the arrangements. As usual, I used the agency’s name to book the moving company and lease the condo. And I didn’t pass on the information as to who’s going to be living there to anyone, not even my assistant. Although seeing how we represent Brock and he just transferred to the Outlaws, it won’t take her but two seconds to figure it out.”
“At the condo building, where were you?”
“In the lobby. I sent my assistant to the condo itself.”
“So everybody thinks you’re the one moving in?”
“I guess.” A bad feeling crawls over me.
He relaxes into his chair again. “Well, there you have it, problem solved.”
“How do you figure that, Marty?” I truly have no idea how he came to that conclusion.
“The residents think you’re the tenant.” He grins. “You’ll need to move in, of course. At least for a little while until we find Brock another place to live.” He temples his hands over his middle like he’s come up with a brilliant solution.
Like heck he has! “I can’t move in, Marty. I have a house. A daughter,” I say. “Her birthday party’s this weekend!”
He waves a hand in the air, dismissing my objection. “So do the birthday party and move in on Monday.”
“I can’t live there!” Brock will be done with training camp in another week which means we would be sharing the same space, breathing the same air. At night. I can’t do that.
His brow scrunches. “Why not?”
Do I really have to explain this to him? “Brock will be living there!”
“That place has two bedrooms, doesn’t it? It shouldn’t be a problem. Besides, it’ll only be for a couple of weeks. A month tops.” He stabs his pen in my direction. “And while you’re there, you can keep an eye on him.”
“What?”
“To make sure he stays out of trouble, if you know what I mean.”
Yes, I know exactly what he means. “But. But.” I sputter.
He glances at me over his half-frame reading glasses. “It would mean a lot, Eleanor. You play along, and I’ll make sure you get a big, fat bonus check at the end of the year.”
That offer shouldn’t tempt me, yet it does. I certainly could use the money, not only for my student loans, but for expenses associated with the house. The hot water heater is acting up, and the roof needs replacing before winter sets in. And like he says, it’s only for a little while. Surely I can handle the living arrangements for a couple of weeks. I shape my lips into what must look like a pained smile. “Well, when you put it that way. All right. But only Monday through Friday. Weekends I go home to my daughter.”
“Fine.” He returns to whatever he was reading when I walked in, a clear sign of dismissal.
I walk out of his office, my mind swirling with what I’ll have to do to pull this off. My first call will be to my mother since I’ll need her to stay with Kaylee during the week. I hate to do it, but what choice do I have? This job is too important to me. And then I’ll have to explain my absence to Kaylee. I can’t tell her I’ll be living in Brock Parker’s place. She would never understand no matter how I justified it. Which means, God help me, I’ll have to lie.
Chapter 7
Brock
I’M SCARFING DOWN MY BREAKFAST on Thursday, when one of the assistant coaches grabs my shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “Coach Grohowski wants to see you. Stop by his office, will you?”
I’ve been at camp for a week and a half now. Done everything they’ve asked me to do. But even though it can’t possibly be bad news, my heart skips a beat. I’ve been on the losing end of a talk with the head coach before. Been told they no longer need my services. Well, if it is bad news, might as well get it over with. I wolf down what remains of my food and head toward Coach’s office.
Coach Grohowski is a huge guy. Six four. At least two seventy-five. He’s seated in a massive executive chair, squinting at something on the computer. As soon as I walk in, he tosses his computer glasses on his desk and leans back in his seat. He doesn’t look like he’ll be dealing out any bad news. But what do I know?
I nod. “Coach. You wanted to see me?”
“Yeah. Take a seat.” He points to the armchair across the desk from him. The thing’s so big it doesn’t even squeak when I park my ass on it.
“How are you settling in? Any issues you want to discuss?” he asks.
Yeah, like I’d be stupid enough to tell him I have a problem. “No.” I grin like the Outlaws’ training camp is the happiest place on earth. “Everything’s great.”
“Good. Got a place to live?”
He wants to talk about my living arrangements? Ookay. “Yes. Furniture’s on its way. Should be here by the end of the week.” Or so I’ve been told.
“Great. We like to have our players settled, preferably married. Any fiancée? Or steady girlfriend?” There’s a hopeful tone to his voice.
Where are these questions coming from? He had to know everything there was to know about me before the trade. “Nope.”
Leaning forward, he drops his elbows on the desk. “What about your date at the dinner? Eleanor Adams, was it? She seemed very nice.”
Ahhh. Things are starting to get clear. Wish I could tell him Ellie and I are a thing. But we’re not. Saturday night at the hotel proved that. “An old friend. Ran into her at the airport. We exchanged phone numbers. When the team dinner came up, I rang her up.” I’m not lying. Everything I’m saying is true.
“Good. Good.”
“Anything else, Coach?” I thumb toward the door. “I need to report to rehab.”
“Nothing hurting, I hope.”
“No. Like I said, everything’s great.”
“Good to know.” He stands up and shakes my hand. When he does, he holds on to it. “A word of advice, Brock. We’re very appreciative of you being here. Very appreciative. You have a great arm and you’re smart. If there’s anything you need, you let us know. You hear me.”
“Will do, sir.”
He releases my hand, but apparently, he’s not done with me yet. “Now, I don’t expect you to live the life of a saint. But we’d only like to see your name in the news when it relates to football. You get my drift?”
So, the purpose of this strange conversation is now apparent. He’d hoped to hear that Ellie and I were, at the very least, dating. When I didn’t confirm that, I got my own personal warning. No wild parties. No sex scandals. “Loud and clear, Coach.”
I walk out, quietly seething. Just how many damn lectures do I have to have? I’m a grown ass adult, for fuck’s sake. I kept my nose clean in San Diego, didn’t I? Well, except for that photo that got plastered all over social media. But nobody got hurt. The women in my bed were more than old enough. I have half a mind to walk right back into Coach’s office and quit.
Yeah, that’s not happening.
I want this job. I need this job. The Outlaws are a class organization. There’s a reason they won the Super Bowl last year, and it wasn’t only about ski
ll. They truly think of themselves as family. San Diego didn’t have that. It was pretty much every one out for themselves. But this team is different. They truly think of themselves as one big tribe. Not that I’ll become one of them. I’ll be on the outside looking in. Pretty much the way I’ve been my whole life.
As I leave the office, somebody approaches. A kid who looks like he’s all of twelve, although I’m sure he’s much older. “Mr. Parker.”
“Yes.”
“A package arrived for you.”
“Thanks.” I take the Priority Mail box with my sports agency’s return address. When I open it up, a set of keys fall out, a tag attached to them with my new place’s address, along with a notification that my furniture had arrived. I’d like to go check out the condo, but the team’s not too keen on releasing a player during training camp, not even for a couple of hours. Thing is, as hard as I’ve worked I’ve earned a favor or two. And there’s no harm in asking. I walk to the Director of Player Relations office and knock on his door.
“Come in.”
“Hey, Jimmy.”
He squints at me over his computer. “Brock. What can I do for you?”
“I just got the keys to my new place.” I dangle them from my fingers. “Any chance I could go there tonight and check things out?”
He frowns. “Couldn’t it wait? You’ll be released on Saturday. That’s only two days away.”
“I have some exotic fish. Want to make sure they made it okay.”
He removes his glasses and squints at me as he cleans them. “Never would have taken you for an aquarium fish kind of guy.”
“I lived in San Diego. You learn to love them.” I flash him my most honest grin.
“Oh?” He slides his glasses back on. “What are they?”
“Candy Basletts.”
A grin pops up on his lips. “Sounds like stripper names.”
I bark out a laugh.
“I suppose it would be okay. Just be back before eleven. Once the gates are locked, nobody gets in or out. And anybody missing at curfew gets fined $5,000.”
“Got it. Thanks, Jimmy. I really appreciate it.”
I don’t own any damn fish. But then—-Jimmy doesn’t need to know that.
Chapter 8
Eleanor
WHAT AM I DOING AT BROCK’S PLACE? I should be home with my daughter, not in his condo passing myself off as the tenant although, technically, I now am. Originally I may have leased the place in the agency’s name, but Marty requested I change it to mine to give credence to me being here. Problem is, it now looks as if I’m the owner of those sex toys and that bed with the restraints. If word were to get out, I shudder to think what would happen. But then I guess that’s the price I must pay for going along with this arrangement.
I agreed to come here, partly for money, partly to save Brock’s reputation. I’d told myself it would be okay. That Marty would explain the situation to Brock before I moved in. But he’d asked me to handle it. Brock has no idea I’m here going through his possessions. And that is so wrong. Whatever Marty thinks, I have no right to intrude into Brock’s privacy, especially after the way I walked out on him. No. I didn’t leave. I’d fled without bothering with any explanations.
Of course, Marty doesn’t know about Saturday, nor is he aware Brock and I know each other. He asked me to complete this assignment to see what kind of an agent I’ll make. According to him, sports agents have to go way beyond the call of duty for the good of the client. And this is one of those times. I’ll need to provide cover for Brock, and if need be, fall on the sword. Hopefully, it won’t come to that.
Well, at least I’ll have a couple of days before I need to explain things to Brock. He’ll be done with camp tomorrow and move in the next day. It will be awkward at first, but surely he’ll understand. I just need to figure out what to say to him.
In the meantime, I better get busy. This might not be my stuff, but I will be living here, and we’ll need a working kitchen. I might as well put away some things. If Brock asks about it, I’ll tell him it’s part of the move in service. Other than dishes, glasses, flatware and a fancy coffee maker, he doesn’t have much in the way of kitchen stuff. It takes me no time to empty those cardboard boxes.
Done with that task, I make my way to the guest bedroom, the one that has a regular bed. Unlike the kitchen, there are oodles of boxes here, all clearly marked. My conscience rears up its ugly head. It’s one thing to put away his dishes and cutlery, it’s another to handle his personal belongings. Some of the containers are labeled “suits.” Maybe it would be okay to hang them up? After all, there’s nothing too terribly personal about his fancy threads. Besides, they might wrinkle badly if left in their wardrobe boxes too long. In reality I’d be doing him a favor. Having rationalized my actions, I tear open one of the boxes and get busy. I’ve just cracked open the second one when a rattle sounds at the front door.
My breath hitches as my heart jumps to my throat. What on earth? Except for the condo management and me, nobody has a key to this place.
When steps grow closer and closer, I grab a wooden hanger and burrow deep in the closet. Whoever it is, I won’t go down without a fight. But when a huge shadow looms larger than life at the opening, my courage deserts me, and I squeak.
“Ellie?” Brock steps into the light, sporting a frown.
I whoosh out a breath from the sheer relief of it. “Thank God, it’s you.”
“What are you doing here?”
I return the wooden hanger to the rod. “Ummm, unpacking your stuff?”
His brow knits as he stares at me. “Why?”
Think fast, Ellie. “I-I-I”—gulp—“wanted to surprise you.”
“Surprise me?”
“Yes.” I struggle to put on my game face. “You only have seven days between training camp and the first game, which as you know is on the road. And you’ll be busy next week at the Outlaws’ compound getting ready for that. Since you wouldn’t have much time to unpack, I thought I’d surprise you by doing it for you.” I fling my arms open wide. “Surprise.”
He scratches the back of his head as if he can’t quite figure me out. “Oh, okay. Thanks, I guess.” His brow remains wrinkled. No wonder. Saturday, I’m storming out of his room. Thursday, I’m hanging up stuff in his closet. Can’t blame him for being confused. Hope he doesn’t ask about my change of heart. I don’t have an answer for him.
Stepping into the bedroom, I ask as nonchalantly as I can, “How did you get the keys to this place?”
“Someone from your agency sent them to training camp, along with a note saying that my stuff had arrived.”
“We did?”
He stares at me like I’ve grown two heads. “Yeah. Didn’t you know?”
“I’d forgotten.” I’d forgotten all right. Forgotten to tell my assistant not to do that. After my conversation with Marty, I’d had a chat with her. Turns out she’d known all along who’d be living in the condo. And since our standard operating procedure is to provide our clients with the personal touch, she’d followed through and sent Brock’s keys to him at camp. Well, no sense crying over spilled milk. The damage is done. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Mind?”
“That I’m here. Going through your stuff.”
His lips curl into that sexy grin I love. “No, I don’t. You might be in for a surprise, though.”
I scrunch my face. “You mean your orgy room?”
He barks out a laugh. “My orgy room?”
“Yes. Isn’t that where you have your—” I can’t say it a second time.
“Orgies?” He arches a brow.
That small gesture gets my motor running. But I’m here as a professional, and I can’t react this way to him. Unfortunately, my body is not listening. “Yes.”
“Sometimes.”
My cheeks flush with heat as I picture him and several women doing the dirty deed on that bed.
He steps forward and cups my cheek with one of those big palm
s of his. “You should see your face right now. It’s bright red.”
I slap his hand away. “I just hope you sanitize those things between uses.”
“My hands?” He holds them up.
“Your toys.”
The corner of his mouth twists upward in a smirk. “I had a cleaning service that came in regularly.”
My eyes grow wide. “And they didn’t mind?”
“Mind? They loved it. It was extra money for them.” His gaze bounces around the bedroom. “I’ll have to find another cleaner in Chicago.”
I jab a finger into the center of his very hard chest, reclaiming his attention. “No wild parties, remember.”
“Oh, don’t worry. It’ll be only one guest. Maybe two.”
“At the hotel, you said you’d keep your nose clean.”
“A temporary lapse of judgment.”
Should have known he was playing me. It shouldn’t bother me. Yet it does. But my feelings are not important. I’ve been assigned keeper duties, and that’s exactly what I intend to do. Aiming to put the fear of God in him, I harsh my voice and issue a warning. “Brock.”
Unfortunately, it doesn’t bother him in the least because he grins right back. “Ellie.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Darling. I’m a lot of things. Disgusting is not one of them.” His sizzling gaze lands on me. “Want to take the orgy room for a spin?”
Wow! It took him all of ten minutes to proposition me. But I’m not falling for it. “I’m not going in there. No way. No how.”
“Afraid you’ll like it?”
“Afraid I’ll catch a sexually-transmitted disease.”
“Your loss.”
“Uh-huh. Now about this room—”
A rat-a-tat-tat clamors at the front door, and I nearly jump out of my skin. Who on earth could that be? I’m not expecting anyone. But maybe he is. Maybe he met someone at a bar and asked her to his place for some bouncy-bouncy on his orgy bed. I scrunch my eyes and glare at him. “Did you invite someone?”
Roughing the Player (Chicago Outlaws Book 2) Page 6
